(no subject)

[the_redmantle]

here's a poem that i wrote after reading about derrida. it's called "and so the person screamed."

and so the person screamed

and so the person screamed
and confused those around him or her
at the pretty party.
he or she hated the pretty dress
that the people paraded at the party maybe.
and so the person screamed,
“it’s like a dream,” the person perhaps screamed.
or he or she screamed about the food
like a screaming child would scream
for desert or ice cream
at the child’s parent’s dinner party,
where the guests would be still confounded
by the moving, terrible screams.
or the person maybe screamed just to scream,
to scream to the guests to show
screaming that he or she could scream
about screaming or the party itself,
or the people at the party itself
that heard his or her screaming.
and anyway the people who didn’t “scream”
like the person was screaming were screaming
in their own way of screaming,
with food in their mouths and half-chewed bits in their screaming
at one another about the food there at the pretty party,
which was anyway pretty palatable food.